


Fragments of a Smile

by bewarethesmirk



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/pseuds/bewarethesmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily remembers Ali vibrantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments of a Smile

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at PLL fic, which is a rare beast. Though this is not my OTP by any stretch, I find Emily/Alison very compelling. Vague spoilers from Season 3x1.

It's bad enough during the day: Emily is forced to cope with dredged up memories and horror from – sometimes literally – Ali's grave. Her days are full of terror, but the nights are even worse. There shouldn't even be a worse, but there always seems to be. At night, Emily lives it.

Emily remembers Ali vibrantly. She wakes in a myriad of states, heaving and panicked, aroused and embarrassingly damp where it counts most, sometimes crying, sometimes all of the above, like a fucked up multiple choice test for the emotionally wrecked and tortured. Ali is as complicated in her dreams as she was in life.

Clearest among the fragments of memory is Ali's face. It's the softness of her lips, the all-knowing gaze, and the careful craftiness of emotion. It's rarely Ali at saccharine sweet, and it's mostly Ali's brand of cruel mischief. Sometimes Emily recalls Ali being fond, and that's the most cherished of all: when Ali called her - _Emily_ \- her secret favorite and would lace their fingers together while watching a movie or taking silly online quizzes about sex compatibility.

Emily remembers Ali in a thousand different ways – a _thousand_ thousand. On what very well might be the thousandth night, Emily wakes up with the familiar taste of gloss on her lips. It's sticky-sweet and her lips still tingle in a room pitch dark except for the light streaming in from the open window. The one she, of course, had not left open.


End file.
